


A Thousand Footsteps

by levitatethis



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Future Fic, Gen, Inspired by Art, M/M, Prompt Fic, beecher likes to overthink every single thing, giving toby and chris a chance at a future, keller knows how to push all the right buttons, oz graffixation 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since getting out of Oz Toby has felt like he’s going nowhere fast—until he decides to take a chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Footsteps

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for **Oz Graffixation 2012** over at **oz-graffiti**. There were tons of great pieces to choose from but it was this particular piece ( _"Running Beecher"_ by **haru776** that ran away with my imagination). I had a hundred different ideas for it and am quite happy with how the story turned out as a companion piece. 
> 
> This is a truly collaborative creative challenge ( **haru776** even bestowed an additional drawing based on one of the scenes in my story!) and I’m already looking forward to next year. 
> 
> A big round of applause for all the artists and writers as well as everyone who keeps this fandom alive through their support.

  
  


**by** [](http://haru776.livejournal.com/profile)[**haru776**](http://haru776.livejournal.com/)  


 

 

 

 

  


_“Oh well the Devil makes us sin  
But we like it when we're spinning in his grin.  
Love is like a sin my love  
For the ones that feel it the most”_  
 **~ Massive Attack, _Paradise Circus_**  


 

 

_“You’re not going anywhere.”_

Toby startles at the harsh whisper coiling around his body, his heart pounding deafeningly. He shakes his head and takes in the sight of his empty office bathed in midday light, the faint sounds of a bustling New York ten stories below and the clatter of ringing phones and clipped footsteps just beyond the door.

Out of habit, in a bid to relax, he straightens his tie then closes his eyes, deeply breathing in and out as he wills rattled nerves to settle.

Daydreams are a dime a dozen nowadays. Whether in his office or lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling counting hundreds of useless sheep, it’s all the same bullshit. Change the context, spruce up the scenery, it’s all still window dressing. He can take ten metaphoric steps forward but it’s not him that’s moving it’s everything else.

He’s not the only one who’s noticed either. People look at him without seeing him. They glance his way but never sustain eye contact for long, just enough to note his presence and confirm whatever theories they’ve got trolling away in their minds then they quickly cover their judgmental reproach at what a fuck up he’s made of his life.

Six years out of Oz and it still clings to him like a filthy extra skin he can’t shake loose or wash off. Some days it weighs heavy, labouring his steps. Other days it bends and twists to his will. He can dress it up in a tie and tailored suit, but he can’t make it disappear all together, can’t expunge it from the record of his life.

No, he feels it acutely. The rest of the world sees it in technicolour. Not that any of it matters. It’s a simple equation of addition and subtraction and sometimes he’s not sure if he’s even really there.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

When he’s feeling forgiving and humbled he tells himself his heart died with Kathy Rockwell splayed across the windshield and that everything that followed was a test meant to be failed because only from rock bottom could he begin to rise.

The nights that self loathing draws around his chest he confesses (with anger and sadness bitter in this throat) that his heart stopped with Chris, both muscle and man surviving the backward swan dive only to be shipped off to places unknown under the guise of recovery, rehabilitation and state sanctioned separation.

In his more enlightened moments, Toby quietly glimpses the thought he usually pushes down far below the surface, the one he recognizes at the bottom of a bottle he refuses to drink from but can taste all the same—the one that sing-songs his heart is still as much intact as it ever was, but now it’s battered and bruised, the telltale survivor alongside his body and soul. This version of reality demands responsibility, putting the onus on him. It says change is possible yet difficult. It comes at a cost.

That’s the punishment that stings the most.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

“Why are you here, Beecher?”

Beecher. Not Toby. This is how Chris builds distance and for a moment all Toby can do is stare. It’s his third visit to the garage (seventh in total but he’s only stepped inside to inquire about unnecessary bodywork for the car three times) in the last two months. They’ve done the dance of professional consultation but with the hint of the personal, the intimate, the all too familiar on the tip of their tongues, Chris is shutting it down.

He looks exasperated and indifferent. Toby isn’t sure which is more genuine and which is for show. He drifts his attention to Chris’ greased covered hands clutching a dirty cloth that was once white, shoving it in one pocket before folding his arms across his chest. The slight jerkiness in his movements is the painful reminder of what didn’t fully heal all those years before. It still rings guilt in Toby even though they both know Chris is the one who threw himself over the railing to prove a point. Now Chris tilts his head back and fixes him with unflinching focus.

“Huh—what do you want?” Chris asks coolly.

_You,_ Toby thinks. _I want you—all of you, every part of you, any way I can have you; suffocating me, breaking me, loving me, needing me, needing you..._

“Why are you here?”

_Because you won’t come to me. You’re the one who’s supposed to be sitting outside my house, day in and day out, watching me and my family, making me crazy with worry you’ll hurt them to have me all to yourself. Because you’re in my blood, my bones, my—_

“When are you going to get it through your head that this ain’t gonna happen?”

_When are you going to stop believing your own bullshit?_

“You have a family to take care of. I have a life here. Those things don’t mix. You coming here isn’t going to change that. Oz was then. This is now. Do me a favour and fuck off.”

Toby believes in forgiveness and second chances. He knows all too well that people regularly screw things up time and time again. Chris and him are a textbook example of what not to do. The road to hell is paved with good intentions after all. He watches Chris walk away, a tiny limp in his gait, shoulders strong and tensed. At least he’ll have company.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

One. Two. Three.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Take a moment then fit a smile into place. Check its perimeters, mind the degree in the upturn at the corners. Adjust it if necessary.

Except...

When he sees Holly and Harry he doesn’t have to over think it. His grin is wide and true. They are the calm in the midst of his raging storm, the exhalation of a held breath.

Harry is the innocent. Unblemished and pure, he is uncorrupted by his father’s sins. He is the promise of a brand new day not anchored to every misstep and mistake.

Holly is the survivor. She is scarred and ripped pieces sutured back together. She is faith and hope when there’s no logical reason for it. She is possibility and each time he begins to stray from the path a look from her stutters his steps back in line.

There’s nothing like a child with a dulled soul to keep one in check.

Sometimes Toby wishes he weren’t such a selfish bastard to need that.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

He tries. He really does.

Dating has never been his forte, relationships more his mode of operation. The last (and only) time Toby opted for casual sex was during a particularly horrific downward spiral in Oz he was rather lucky to survive. But dinner, conversation, a little innocent flirting—that he can do. A consensual roll in the hay where he and that night’s woman can both get their rocks off and then volley the pretense of a second or third date all the while knowing it’s not in the cards—all the better.

He goes out with a colleague, then a friend of another colleague, then there’s a friend of a friend. A couple of blind dates; a woman who works with Angus’ wife; there isn’t _one_ type and it all goes relatively well in the short term. Twice he seeks out male company and, okay, dark hair and blue eyes do taunt of someone specific, but it’s all to take the edge off.

Truth be told, it’s more than sex. He jerks off in the shower to fantasies saved up over the years. Sometimes it’s about that other warm body curved to his, heat coursing through angled limbs, sweet breath licking against a pulsating jugular and fingers gently tracing along skin. Sometimes it’s about being pushed up against a wall, bruises sprouting beneath piercing nails, bite marks along an outstretched neck, legs tight around the waist and hard, steady thrusts.

It’s the bare minimum to feel connected beyond bloodlines. It’s just the right amount to breathe again, feeling the drive of want, the urgency of need and the flame to a dampened soul.

Sometimes even that’s not enough.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** ************

 

“Is this—uh—what you---mmmmm, _oh god_ —meant by ‘fuck off?’—Jesus!” Toby mutters and grunts as he’s pressed harder against the brick hall. He arches his neck invitingly, basking in the heat threatening to overwhelm him.

Chris, flush against him, bites at the salty juncture where neck meets shoulders then grazes his teeth along the skin up to Toby’s mouth. He pulls Toby’s bottom lip between his teeth then drags him into a filthy, tongue-filled kiss, all the while shifting his hips enough to elicit the most perfect ( _and—God—Chris is a goddamn expert at this_ ) current of friction. A burst of want flares in Toby’s groin and he instinctively widens his stance before hooking his left leg around Chris’ thigh.

A murmur of approval skips from Chris’ lips to his own and Chris crooks his right arm around Toby’s leg and pushes forward, holding him tighter. They both gasp in pleasure.

Chris whips his head back, breaking the kiss, and Toby stares at him covetously, a state of lust and desperation ( _maybe we can have this all, right? Right?_ ). When he tries to reclaim the kiss Chris denies him but doesn’t let him go or look away. Chris is looking for something in his eyes, his countenance, his words—but he doesn’t know what it is Chris needs to see or hear. He doesn’t know what will command Chris to either relinquish or claim him. In frustration Toby tenses then deflates, furrowing his brow and dropping his shoulders.

That seems to do it. Chris’ heated yet distant expression softens and he rests their foreheads together.

Toby shuts his eyes and stretches his senses while he revels in the touch of lips lightly against his as Chris says, “I’m giving us what we both need.”

“Aren’t you magnanimous?” Toby scoffs, cupping the back of Chris’ neck.

Chris stretches, dropping his body along top of Toby’s, and smirks. “I’m your salvation. Don’t you forget it.”

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

The kids want to meet Chris.

Toby nearly chokes on the water he’s drinking—not out of surprise, not because his mind is spinning with plausible excuses to dissuade them, but because a small part of him has already been contemplating the possibilities.

Angus thinks he’s lost his mind when he mentions it to him that night after dinner.

But Harry’s all wide-eyed curiousity with a gap grin. Holly’s sly eyes are more telling. Toby’s always been careful not to talk too much about Chris, but he knows she’s overheard bits and pieces and has obviously constructed some image of the elusive figure who has taken up a fixed point in her father’s life. It’s apparent she’s put Harry up to asking the question and Toby can’t help but wonder what she talks about with her psychiatrist.

Toby juts his tongue against the back of his top front teeth. Chess pieces are moving and he’s still spinning on the same spot. For some reason he feels like he’s the rope waiting to be pulled taut between two worlds. Holly has a vice grip rivalled by none. It shouldn’t surprise him. She’s lost so much and will stop at nothing to keep hold of what’s left. Chris would just as soon stake a claim (with teeth, handcuffs and psychological warfare) as turn tail for the nearest pub and quick fuck in the washroom with nary a glance over his shoulder.

Toby sighs and thinks of martinis and moonshine.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

Take a chance.

Swallow the risk.

Have a Plan B ready.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

Toby is a bundle of nerves as he leans against the living room wall, arms protectively across his chest, while he watches Chris on the sofa and the kids seemingly playing good cop-bad cop.

For ten minutes Harry has sat so close to Chris he’s practically in his lap. He’s fascinated with Chris’ arm tattoo only half covered by the stretched fabric of his white t-shirt. Harry is enthralled, really, and Toby realizes he’s going to have to fend off the young boy’s insistent desire to get one himself until he’s old enough. Harry peers at the crucified Jesus, his mouth twisted in thoughtful concentration. Raising his fingers to touch it he casts an inquisitive glance at Chris and waits for the playful nod of approval before tentatively touching the inked skin.

The smile that twitches across Chris’ lips speaks of skepticism, curiousity and amusement and Toby wants nothing more than to kiss him. Not the best idea when Holly is sitting in the armchair across from Chris, her face stone cold neutral and her arms defiantly crossed in front of her. Somehow this young woman holds the bulk of power in the room. And they all know it.

Toby clears his throat (Chris’ gaze shoots his way) and says, “Harry, you need to finish cleaning your room—,”

“Now?” Harry whines.

“Now.”

Harry hmmphs and stands up. It takes a Herculian effort for him to detach himself from Chris’ side, as if some hidden magnet has them tethered together. Finally he grudgingly stalks off. Toby stops him as he passes by. “When you finish how about we all go out for ice cream?”

Disappointment immediately transforms into excitement and the young boy scurries up the stairs.

_One test passed_ , Toby thinks. But the harder one is yet to come. He looks back to find Chris reclining on the sofa, arms spread out across the headrest behind him, staring at Holly with a casual hint of a smile. Toby bites down on the nervous tension gnawing at his stomach but before he can say anything Holly breaks the silence.

“Are you planning on sticking around?”

If Toby is floored by Holly’s question, Chris is flabbergasted. However, with the exception of a tilt of his head, Chris masks his unexpected reaction relatively well. A moment, then two, stretch out as if time itself has ceased to matter. In one swift movement Chris leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs and clasping his hands together. Without shirking Holly’s intense stare, he says, “I don’t know.”

It’s the god’s honest truth and it leaves everything up in the air. Toby drops his gaze to the floor wishing it didn’t hurt so much to hear the uncertainty spoken out loud. Guarantees have never been in the cards, not when it comes to the traditional—monogamy in the side-by-side, white picket fence sense not so much, but loving someone in a way that never happened before and will never happen again even with a world in between them very much so.

Toby scratches the back of his neck.

“But I’d like to.”

Toby looks up to find Chris watching him with a serious, reverent expression in place. It is overwhelming and unexpected and just right; it is too much and just enough; it’s the contradiction they’ve come to live and swear by. He muffles a grin and glances at Holly who is looking between them, her mouth in a tight line and eyes narrowed in consideration. Toby pushes himself away from the wall and takes a step forward, shoving his hands in his pocket and dropping his shoulders humbly.

Suddenly Holly is on her feet like she’s made up her mind about something. Turning on her heels she heads by Toby with a raised eyebrow and what could be mistaken for a smirk on her way up to her room.

Chris slowly makes his way over. “So, did I pass?”

“You showing up is what passed the test,” Toby half jokes, fingering the fabric of Chris’ shirt.

“Hers or yours?” Chris’ voice is a low rumble as he slides one arm around Toby’s waist and pulls him close.

Chris is all body heat and sly words that rush Toby’s blood and tighten his groin. He’s an all encompassing presence, pulling everything into his orbit without apology. Toby shivers under the intensity of Chris’ want laid at his feet, the same feelings he returns, often enough against rational judgement. From upstairs he can hear Harry moving about his room and music blaring from Holly’s. For the first time in a long time Toby doesn’t feel like he’s at a standstill, stuck in quicksand spinning his wheels.

It’s more than intent. There’s a sense of purpose, like the horizon is a point he can eventually reach. He’s no longer resigned to accepting contentment only attained by going through the motions. Everything is sharpened and heightened now. If someone pinched him he wouldn’t wake up from a dream, he’d feel the sting of pain and rush of protective adrenalin—

“Hey, don’t check out on me.”

Toby murmurs, “Wouldn’t think of it,” and rests his forehead in the crook of Chris’ neck. “Are you really here?”

“You see anyone else around worth feeling up?” Chris smirks and fits the hand he has on Toby’s back up under his shirt, pressing skin to skin.

“You know what I mean,” Toby says, his lips brushing against Chris’ stubble.

“The question,” clarifies Chris, planting a quick yet deep kiss on Toby’s lips, “is—are _you_ here?”

Toby takes a deep breath, pulling back to meet Chris’ gaze. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

And he means it.

  
  


**by** [](http://haru776.livejournal.com/profile)[**haru776**](http://haru776.livejournal.com/)  


  


 

 

 


End file.
